


Remembering How to Remember

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World of Warcraft Rare Pair Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: A game of "Who Am I?" takes an uncomfortable turn, but Anduin Wrynn finds solace wrapped in Arator's arms. Written for the World of Warcraft Rare Pair Week prompt "Forgiveness."





	Remembering How to Remember

“Am I evil?”

Vereesa was the first to react. With her glass still pressed to her lips, she nodded, and shot a glance in Moira’s direction. Looking between them, the dwarf, who had a card with the name “Alonsus Faol” plastered across her forehead, added a simple “Ay.”

Beside him, he felt Arator shift and look down at his plate. His card—General Nazgrim—all but covered his downcast blue eyes. But Anduin paid the strange look no heed, at least for now. Scrunching his brows together, he took a small sip of his wine to buy himself time.

Evil. An evil male, so maybe like…Arthas? He felt sick at the thought, and just when he opened his mouth to ask if he was a human, Tess Greymane cut in from his left.

“More like bad. Evil’s a strong word.”

“Come now, Tess,” Vereesa chided. “That’s not how you play. It’s yes or no.”

The look passed between the two women made little sense to Anduin, so he just reached up and straightened his nameplate, flushing a bit when his eyes strayed in Arator’s direction and his knee found the paladin’s under the table. Giving his boyfriend a gentle bump and lingering in that contact, he tried to regain his focus, perusing this new detail. Bad, but not evil. Maybe someone in the Horde, then?

“Have I ever harmed the Alliance?”

“Yes,” the whole group murmured together.

“Okay then,” the king tried, sliding his hand under the table and seeking out Arator’s. Their fingers laced together, the half-elf giving him a short, almost awkward, squeeze that raised even more questions for Anduin. He tried his best to laugh, but the sound came out curt and nervous. Cheeks flushed with drink and confusion, he spat out the first thing that came to mind. “Well, am I attractive?”

Convinced as he was that they must be talking about one of the Horde leaders, he hadn’t expected the question to get such a mixed response. But for some reason, Arator’s fingers tensed, his knees shifting as he bolted upright. On his other side, Tess dropped her fork, and Moira stared at the wall. Only Vereesa remained impassive, shrugging, and answering “No.”

For some reason, Arator held his breath. Moira took a long swig from her beer, but Tess added, “He’s okay. Maybe a six or a seven.”

“That’s pretty high,” Anduin pointed out. 

“Just hypothetically. You know I don’t care for men.” Tess kept her eyes on Vereesa when she spoke, as if she were trying to communicate _something_ across the table that wasn’t reaching her lips. A little sheepish, the high elf lowered her gaze, and Arator’s hand tightened its grip on his hand against his thigh.

Finally, Moira cut in to the exchange, “Ay, lad. Beauty’s for everyone’s self to decide. Try a better question.”

This whole game…had taken a turn, and Anduin didn’t like it. They had breezed through Tess’s five rounds with ease; they had confirmed that she was in everyone’s business, and, with a chuckle, she had guessed correctly that she was Mathias Shaw. Everyone had been laughing and drinking with ease, but now it felt like the air had been sucked from the room. 

The king swallowed, and struggled to make sense of the shift. His name must be bad, or complicated, at the very least, for everyone to respond so strangely. Someone they didn’t have great relations with, maybe, or maybe someone he knew? He rubbed the back of Arator’s hand with his thumb and returned to his earlier, and hopefully easier, question. “Okay, am I human?”

Silence descended for a moment, and the whole group mumbled amongst themselves, as if no one was quite sure how to reply. Well, it was supposed to be easier, Anduin thought to himself, but maybe this was the clue he needed.

“Uh,” Tess finally took the lead, looking between Vereesa and Arator. The elf nodded, and the half-elf lowered his head, which she took as a sign to continue. “Uh, you look kind of human.”

There. That was it. He must be forsaken. But a seven out of ten in the looks department? That seemed odd, but he persisted, trying, “Well, have I met Anduin Wrynn?”

It must be Nathanos, he decided, even as the question formed on his lips. All they had to say is “no,” and then he would guess—

But they didn’t. They all answered easily: “Yes.”

Then he was back at square one. 

Sliding his fingers free from Arator’s hold, he reached up onto the table and lifted his wine to his mouth. Lingering there for a moment, he enjoyed the sweetness, licking his lips, then setting it back to the side. There had to be something about his person that made them all act so awkward. If Anduin had definitely met him, maybe they had a bad personal history? He meant to look over at Arator for confirmation, but when his gaze strayed to Arator’s name—General Nazgrim—something inside him clenched.

Oh. Oh no.

Garrosh wasn’t exactly _human looking_ , but he could see how his looks raised question. Anduin’s father had felt something about them, and when Anduin called up his face in his mind—gold eyes, large tusks, lips that scowled, stubbornly, whenever he asked a question—the king…could see it, he guessed, though it left his skin feeling cold.

He lowered his eyes and poked at his empty plate. That cell’s shadows flooded his thoughts; he could almost feel Garrosh’s hand tight around his wrist. His stomach churned, and when he tried his voice, it came out a pitch higher than he would have liked. “Okay, ah.”

He coughed and tried again, inclining his head in Arator’s direction. “Well, was I friends with his guy?”

But their answer left him all the more stumped.

“No.”

 _No._ But if not Garrosh, who else had Anduin personally knew who could have the group acting so strangely. Still shaken, the king reached up and fiddled with his card, his thumb flicking against the corner and his clammy fingers pressing up through his hair. Now he cursed himself for drinking that wine, knowing that his poise must be faltering, that emotion must have reached his eyes as he thought through every difficult candidate. 

It couldn’t be Garrosh or any of his orcs, but it had to be someone who wronged him. It couldn’t be Arthas because he had never met Arthas, and it couldn’t be Lady Katrana because she was a—

—Woman, he had meant, but the other word that came to his mind ripped the breath from his chest.

_Dragon._

“I’m Wrathion.”

The name felt like a cry on his lips, and the clapping that followed, an insult. Even though his friends couldn’t have meant to hurt him, his chest still grew tight, and his hand shook as he peeled the card off his head. There, plain as day, in Vereesa’s flowing script, he read a word he hadn’t dared utter but had plagued his thoughts since that trial. 

Wrathion. Where had he gone, and did he care what had happened between them? Did he know what Anduin felt every time his gaze landed on his jihui tiles or his lips recalled some joke they had shared at the tavern? 

Shaking, he folded the card in half and tucked it under the side of his plate, but even with Wrathion’s name hidden from view, the look of it still lingered in his thoughts. He sat up a little bit straighter, and forced a short, painful smile. He hadn’t realized a breath had been caught in his throat until a sigh overtook him, and without warning, he pushed back his chair, bowed, and mumbled a simple, “One moment. I’ll be right back. Please feel free to continue.” 

Not waiting to hear or see their response, he limped across the room to the door. It was only after he eased it closed behind him and stepped out into the courtyard that he felt comfortable letting his shoulders slump. He had made them feel bad, he was sure, and he cursed himself for failing to keep it together, but if he hadn’t left—

_It’s okay to cry, my dear prince. I know it hurts, and you never need to stay strong for me._

Ugh. The breeze on his cheeks might as well have been a gust with sleet on its heels, just like the wind in Kun-lai that had stung at his eyes that night so long ago. He and Wrathion had walked hand-in-hand up the hill to his meeting with Garrosh, sharing a kiss at the door. He had been nervous, but Wrathion’s arms were around him and it seemed like he would never leave.

And then the next day, he’d betrayed him, and then he was gone for good. Shuddering, Anduin hugged his arms to his chest and stared out over the lake, willing his shoulders to steady, swallowing down the raw distress that caught like a lump in his throat.

He didn’t hear Arator approach until his hand reached out to brush his shoulder. 

“Anduin?” The half-elf’s voice murmured from somewhere behind his back. “I am so sorry. Vereesa doesn’t know you and Wrathion—” 

“Oh, I know! It’s okay.” His own response was a little too quick, his smile a little too forced when he turned to meet Arator’s gaze. But in truth, his sadness now churned with a wave of guilt. Not only had he made Vereesa uncomfortable, but now Arator…Arator felt responsible. 

Hanging his head, he let down his mask and wrapped his arms around the half-elf’s waist. Once settled against his shoulder, he mumbled, almost sheepish, “No, I should apologize. I overreacted. I was just—taken off guard—but I’m happy with you. I hope you know—”

“I do,” Arator, thankfully, cut off his rambling. Anduin tightened his arms around the half-elf and finally, in his embrace, like the Light’s touch surrounding him, he managed to calm the ache in his heart. They stood like that for a pause; Anduin no longer felt the cold air biting his cheeks. 

Instead, he nuzzled the other man’s hair, taking in the softness as it draped down his neck and into the space between them. And finally, Arator murmured, low in his chest against Anduin’s ear. “It’s okay to miss him. I understand. I love Vereesa, but I still wonder about my parents, if they’ll come home, if they’re okay.”

“Yes, but those are your _parents_ ,” Anduin stressed; he wasn’t sure why, but he always had to dismiss his own suffering for others. It was a bad habit, Wrathion had so bluntly insisted, and now he was doing it again.

Blushing and hiding his face, he dug his fingers into Arator’s back, but the half-elf’s voice remained steady, “Yes, but he was your first friend, and your first love. It’s okay to grieve, is what I’m trying to say. I know it still hurts.” 

“It does,” Anduin admitted, short and solemn, his fingers caught up in the silk of Arator’s tunic. “I just— thought the war might bring him out of hiding. I just want to know he’s okay.”

“I know. I thought the same about mother and father.”

“Oh, but they will. I’m sure they will.”

Arator looked down into his eyes; a wistful smile passed over him, and he pulled Anduin closer, sliding his fingers up the king’s cheek and tucking back a strand of his hair. Anduin straightened his back, and Arator closed the distance between them. Their lips brushed. With a soft sigh, Anduin released his hold on the half-elf’s back and draped his arms over his shoulders, holding him close, enjoying the heat and the love he felt in Arator’s gentle kiss. 

Another cool breeze swept through the courtyard and ruffled the human’s hair, but he only felt Arator’s warmth and the way his lips parted when he murmured, “Thank you.”

“It’s true,” he whispered between kisses, pecking once, then again, then holding his breath and lingering. And when he finally exhaled, it was with their foreheads resting together, with Arator’s nose rubbing against his own before he turned and nuzzled the crook of his ear. 

“And until then,” Anduin whispered, soft, and a little bit thicker with emotion than he intended, as he kissed Arator’s cheek, “Until then, please stay here with me.”

Arator nodded; Anduin swallowed and blushed, and when he stepped back to look into the half-elf’s eyes he found it much easier to smile. Their fingers laced together in the space between them, holding on with a squeeze far less desperate than the one they had shared beneath the game table, but instead kind, affectionate.

And the look that passed between them was no longer confused, but knowing. A shared nod, a grateful smile, and a promise, and then Anduin murmured:

“Let’s go back inside?”

“Of course.”


End file.
